Goodnight Facebook

If you're reading this its a good chance you got my note about shuttering my Facebook account. I appreciate that you took the time to follow me over here. I get to set my own rules and I'm not sharing your info with anybody. Promise.

Before I start cranking out observations and opinions here  that would have gone over there, please do me this one favor. Check out my new website, www.JewofOklahoma.com. When you're there you can find a link to my latest release. I'm super proud of it and I'd like you to hear it at least and download it free for nuthin'.

So! Welcome to the place I used to share my stories with before I got derailed by MySpace, er, I mean Facebook.


New Orleans LA


The first Balkan Brass Band I ever encountered

Long ago, around 1991 or so, I was in my most obsessive "must learn everything about everything" stage and on the constant lookout looking for music to play on my radio show. A friend handed me a cassette he had made from another cassette that another friend had brought back from Germany. Yeah, that was how it was back in the Dark Days prior to the Internet and easy access to anything. If you wanted to learn anything other than what was fed you you really had to get your hands dirty and work hard to uncover gems at all.

What he gave me was this dub of a dub of famed Serbian trumpeter Svetozar Lazović 

Found the original eventually
 with no song titles or any info, just the cassette with a strange name on it. Needless to say, I was entranced. Hadn't heard anything remotely like it and as a life long brass bandsman I had heard plenty up to that point, Mexican Banda on the radio and NOLA street bands on the corner to name but a few. But this was just a revelation. It lead to basically everything else I ever discovered since.

Then just this week I find this amazing live recording from Amsterdam in 1989 where they are pretty much playing down the same tunes as was on my battered cassette (which I passed along to the next soon to be fan.) There's the Eastern Orthodox hymn at the start into the standard showpiece "Ciocarlia." Next jumping into a set of the lively "kolos" that earned him and his band several "Golden Trumpet" awards at the prestigious Guca Festival, basically a mark of the best in all Serbia. And unlike many of the bands popular with Western fans,  Lazović  is just playing the standard ethnically Serbian material, devoid of the sexy "coceks" of the Rromani bands. This live recording captures what I've been told is the standard of their form, in it's best presentation. Along with the awesome sound the brass is making, I've always been taken by the strong clear vocals, by who I am not sure, with the rest of the band in full chorus behind him. Of note towards the end of the concert is a tune called "Mesciccina," Not the highly stylized version made famous by soundtrack producer Goran Bregovic, but he original and much much different.

Note the traditional garb

By soaking in these tunes for literally years, I was in a good position to join the famed Boban Markovic Band onstage as second bass tuba when Frank London's Klezmer Brass All Stars toured with them. It came in REALLY handy when we played in Chicago and were met with a huge audience of Serbian ex-pats who weren't really interested in the Rromani tunes and Boban played an hour long set of kolos for the drunken Serbs (who threw literally thousands of one dollar bills at us as the danced around the hall.) I tag teamed the tuba with my teacher Sascha Alisinov, tapping in and out when we each needed a break. 

If anyone wants to embark on the rough journey of imitating Rromani Brass traditions, I'd humbly recommend to start here and master the Serbian form, which is the basis to the more lively and sexy Rromani bands like Boban. I posit it would be like trying to learn Black American music as starting at Ornette Coleman, ignoring Ellington and Charley Patton, devoid of the context in which the music was created and how it lives as an expanding and progressive tradition to the community who regards it as it's own soundtrack. It's a vibrant tradition carried on today by Lazović's son Dragan and Boban's son Marko.  What they do today would make little sense if you hadn't understood where they came from and what it's function is. Well, that's my opinion for what its worth. You're welcome to do as you like, ultimately.

But for any casual listener I feel you would be rewarded by attending to these 45 minutes:

For reference, American Serbs dancing the kolo:


I never liked Lena Duhnam. Now I see why.

From Todays' Guardian:

Is Lena Dunham's "hipster racism" just old fashioned prejudice?

"Hipster racism is thinking that you can use someone else’s culture as a prop."

Now is as good a time as any to remind you of Ta-Nahisi Coats's latest excoriation of witless White Supremacy.

Yeah, me too. I should read it again myself.


Rubin's Rotator Recovery Fundraising Sale!

Hello friends!

So you might have heard that I had to have major shoulder surgery back in May. Good news is that my surgeon says he's happy with my progress and only only now am I cleared for PT. However he reckons I'll be unable to perform until at least November. That means I haven't had an income for months now and won't see one for a bit! I have an understanding landlord and social services to kept me fed, but the bills are stacking up and I need to hustle!

So as a fundraiser, here's a 3 CD set of my most recent material, 2011-2016. I'm very proud of these releases and I'd love for you to have one. I'm including a poster of Howard Rains controversial cover art for "Southern Discomfort," along with full liner notes. These are lovingly handmade discs, each individual and unique. (If you kick another $10, I'll include a copy of the Bad Livers UK only release 12" gold vinyl EP.) Only a limited number available

I've got auctions up on eBay including my collection of Flaming Lips memorabilia dating 1982-84 and a few selected Bad Livers items as well.

If the recovery goes well, I plan on a a trip up to the Seattle area, so if you have or know of a house concert or venue between NOLA and there, please do be in touch!

Thanks again. I appreciate you.

Simply send $25 PayPal for the 3 Cd's and Poster. $35 to add the Bad Livers EP
PayPal address: texasrubinchik@gmail.com

Be sure to include your address!!


To my GoFundMe supporters:

Some folks may remember that I posted on social media that I wanted to hear from my Jewish friends. Strangely, very few checked in, but those who did were folks mostly who were self-identified Landsmen. Proud Jews in other words. To those who responded (some of you in fact) I sent out the following email. Not an appeal to purchase anything. But to get a perspective  from my extended family about how I could best get out into the country and share my stories and POV with an audience, somewhere.  Anywhere ;-) Here its is.

"If I can bend your ear for a moment? I have a little conundrum and I don’t know to best get around it. My knowledge base seems stuck in another time so I need some help.

Just recently I finished a recording project called “Songs for the Hangman’s Daughter.” It’s my very first release of just my original verse set to music, I think they call it “singer-songwriter” music, but whatever. The fact is that my material and POV comes from a very narrow band of experience, namely carrying the brand of “Jewish” in a small Oklahoma town and trying to live through all that with some kind of healthy perspective. 

As I gleaned attending the annual Folk Alliance conference this year, the whole music industry from top to bottom is just spinning it’s wheels, waiting for the next disruption to degrade it once again and no one has any good idea what to do about it. 

What I did see at this costly event were mostly the offspring of the very well to do; almost entirely White Europeans speaking to a similarly privileged community about literally nothing more than the travails of interpersonal relationships and how generally wonderful life is. Gevault. Even in “folk” music today the pitiful few actual “folks” are hard come by, as they don’t have access to the capital required to even get there to showcase. What I encountered was a very unified and quite troubling narrative that I don’t recognize frankly. I also saw that my voice and the voices of others in the margins of our society had literally no chance of distributing our message of challenge and dissent in this new environment. And not a single Jewish identified artist to be found.

So, I have this recording of my broadsides set to music. Even though I was given very reduced rates by everyone involved, the costs incurred in its production have yet to be recouped and sit on my credit card (just like every artist you know, BTW.) Not only am I unable to press it, promote it or even cover expenses involved in touring behind it, no one I have encountered in the profession even recommends I bother in the environment today. 

But how can I hope to create interest at all in a world flooded by well funded projects from every quarter on one hand and in the simple terror of current events? What good are my topical stories if there’s no one to tell them to? Every one counsels to not release anything until I have already created a market for it by touring, which is nearly impossible if not supported somehow. Trusted friends who did hear the release said plainly however that it was “personal and deeply brutal, but a real hard sell in the best of times.” “However,” they added, ‘it really needs to be heard and now.” I’ve been stumped. What to do? 

So, fellow Diaspora Jews, ultimately you are my target audience so I reach out to you individually. I think I have a voice that is not being heard in today’s discussions and I have an inkling that I speak not only for myself, but for a community I am sure exists. I speak of experiencing institutionalized Anti-Semitism and Xenophobia from the first day I had to ask my father why my teacher called him a “Kike.” Of traveling across the sea to see for myself the destruction of European Jewry while at the same time being lauded as a bearer of those very traditions, making parnossa teaching the Hangman’s Daughter. And the personal devastation of returning home again and again to a Jewish community that actively refuses to support those traditions, much less the Yiddish culture I feel sometimes they are secretly ashamed of. Of the twin marginalization of being a christ-killer to my country neighbors and then feeling the deep sting of being a “dumb hick” to my supposed Jewish community in the big city, a place we drove 100 miles for Sunday School at Beth Emanuel in OKC just to be treated that way. 

(Yes, I just called Oklahoma City the "big city." Such was my upbringing. Why not Tulsa, so much closer to Stillwater?  Dad said that was the schul we don't set foot in.)

But my Jewish identity also comes from our deeply ingrained and abiding tradition of working for social justice as a duty, That we use our privileges as light skinned and English speaking to turn against hatred and speak for those who are systematically allowed no voice in our society. And further if I may, unlike any voice in the music community that I have encountered I wish to speak for many in the American Diaspora who hold complex and nuanced opinions about Middle East affairs. (See, even coded language engaged to even my friends, identifying the 3rd rail of modern Jewish thought.) 

Some say (like every Rabbi I talk to thus far) that that’s a real bad idea. But I’m 50 now. In our tradition, as I am childless and unmarried it’s my responsibility to make use of myself and now to do what those settled married folks with children cannot do. (I'm not learned enough to study Kabbalah and there's little culture left that even remembers to support it anyway. There's another song.. )

In the tradition of the Hassidic parables, let me tell you a story that illustrates my intentions: 

Many years ago, not fully realizing what I was doing with myself I found myself sitting on a bed in a hotel room in the Catskills. Across from me on his bed sat a elderly man, who was to pass away just months later. He pulled out his old mandolin and taught me a song. He played me his songs and showed me how he was taught to play as a child in Poland. He told me of happy times in school and how this little kid shockingly whipped all the goyim at a major Mandolin contest, winning an instrument he could scarce afford. Then, after a pause, he told me about the day his family was relocated into the ghetto in Lodz. How he left his family behind and escaped crawling through sewers and drain pipes only big enough for child to pass through, his prize mandolin in a sack on his back at all times. Of his days in the forests, hiding more often from brutally anti-Semitic nationalist Polish militias than of the frequent Nazi patrols. Of the fiddler from his partizaner group who blew up the Gestapo Headquarters with a bomb packed in his case. Of hiding from the Russians as well, who if they came across would take all their weapons, saying Jews were no good to fight, even though they had survived 4 years combat in their dugouts and trenches. Of finding the mass graves filled with bodies, left out the elements. He said to me “You know, maybe I shouldn’t tell the children about these horrors. They grow up so happy and removed from fear, I don’t know if I should burden them so.” But he bowed his head for a moment, then he looked me right in the eyes. He said mournfully, “But if I don’t share these stories, then why did I survive? Why am I even here?”

 Strangely years later, my pal and mentor Don Walser said nearly the same thing to me from his deathbed. He said ‘You gotta keep telling the good old stories. You can’t let them go away, you tell them and then you tell your own too.” From my twin Yiddishe and Cowboy upbringings, the marching orders are precisely the same. I even yodel on a tune because Don said not to let that go away either.

So I send you this note mostly to speak directly with my target audience, us. And this is it. This is all I’m doing from here out. I will go anywhere and play any place as long as I can cover expenses to do so, house concert, coffee house, progressive synagogue social hall, whatever, I’m down. I really look forward to traveling and telling the stories, which I have a feeling will resonate with lots of folks, not just mishpuka. If funds are available I even have a fine band to back me as well.

If you got this far, you deserve a reward:

Attached are links to just few numbers I hope you will like. It represents the show I plan on touring. Let me know what you think. Here's the whole release with text of the lyrics:


And the song I learned from the old Lodz Partizaner is "Vi iz dus Gesele," a hit song from the Ukrainian theatre before the war. The original was about the existential nature  about how you "couldn't go home anymore," For the Jews in the dugouts, it was painfully literal. The schul I refer to is the great White Synagogue in the main square of Trencin Slovakia where I played almost a decade ago and have yet to process the experience.

If for some reason you are inclined and have the means, donations to the recording fund can be made here:


(Bless you here for having doing so!)

Live and be well,



OK. So here we are.
There's confusion, sadness and even despair going around and I get it. Some of us are old enough who remember what the "back" in taking the country to actually means and its not pretty. In fact, it represents all that my generation, and marginalized generations before, had railed against our whole lives. And for 8 years we were sure we would enter our dotage having had done our job by pushing the monolith of democracy every so slightly to Justice. That our efforts were amazingly becoming meaningful and productive. Alas, as the Sages remind us healing the World, Tikkun Olam, is a daily struggle and many of us look out today with a despondency I can scarcely describe.
What to do? I want you to do me a favor, try this. Seek out local artists, poets, writers, dancers, craftspeople and journey people, your neighbors and by extension your community. Find them and do what you can make them part of your everyday life. No need to look far, you'll find them. Find your tribe in other words. Not in the ether, on these false platforms which only trick the mind into believing things to be real. Go out and touch the real. Make the real. Put some art on your wall made by a face you know. Eat food from your local garden down at the local farmers market. Make a connection, in that place where art, science and culture all intersect. It's VITALLY important that we look to each other now, and realize as someone noted 8 years ago, you are the people you've been waiting for.
Cover art by Howard Rains
Here's the link to donate my project, which I'm very proud of. But be sure and donate to somebody's efforts either by simply buying what they make or hiring them to do what they do. We'll only progress if we support each other, not by tweets and posts, but by our budget choices. Resist and Peace, MR

*(I've been advised by my mental health professionals to avoid all social media and I'm following their advice. No joke and I'll bet you can relate.)


Tenor banjo master Eddie Davis teaches you all he knows

He just sits there in front of his camera at his little NYC apartment and regularly plays down his versions of the great American Songbook, sharing it for free and to all.

Want to know how a song goes? Check in with Eddy as he's heard almost every classic recording and filtered it thorough his years of playing to give us all this gift. 

Subscribe and be enlightened.

More info on Mr. Davis can be found here.


About New Orleans musical "styles"

Here at the end of the year I'm cleaning out the literally hundreds of little bits of info that I've taken of the internet that I though twas interesting enough to revisit. 

I thought I'd share this with you, a Facebook response from a native New Orleanian conversing about the huge influx of out-of-towner "Jazz" musicians and their effect on the natural environment that creates New Orleans culture. I'm so sorry to not attribute the statement, but it rings true to my experience. 

Lots to think on, especially for those engaged in cultural activities that they are not native to:

usical styles evolved throughout time. 

Here's an exercise that may explain my view. 

1) Take a photograph of a flowing river.

2) Give the photo a descriptive title. 

3) Try to duplicate the subtleties of that "titled photo" by taking another photo of the same river. 

You can't. Culture is fluid. 

But the river has its uniqueness as per the location of the photo even though no 2 will be alike.

I am not as vocal as I used to be but I will say this. New Orleans is a culturally unique place. 

I am who I am because I paid no attention to what "you" thought of me.

Have you ever felt an intimate relationship with a dancer as you played from your heart? Time is the secret to all of this. 

Now that I've given you the answer, you can work on it, like I've done and continue to do, or you can continue to critique the framed whitewashed canvas as a snow covered plain. 

Rest assured, I will not mumble behind your back about your deficiencies."

(Facebook response, 7/31/13)


A Magical Box That Changed My Life Irrevocably

I think it was 1996. AOL was brand new and all of a sudden we could communicate with people around the world. Readers today can hardly believe it, but it was an amazing window on life outside of where you lived. One of the first people I found online was Bob Cohen, a Jewish musician and bon vivant living in Budapest working with his group Di Naye Kapele. I mentioned that I had little access to the Balkan musics that influenced what is called "Klezmer" music. What I was hearing from modern bands just didn't ring true to me, it sounded "dead" frankly. Having lived in worked in living musical cultures I hard a hard time working with academics and school trained musicians who had never, ever, played a live music for live dancers. There must be a living music of today. And where are the recordings of the living masters and why are they so hard to find? I was perplexed as Mamonidies would say.

He said no problem, and look to mails.

Maybe two months later, a battered square box arrived at my home in Austin TX. He sent me literally every recording of Yiddish music he had, many of the recordings either collected by himself or ethnographers he encountered. Home recorded gems of fiddler Moische Nussbaum and vocalist Bronya Sakina. Belf 78's and Lautari classics, Moldovan brass bands and 1961 field recordings of Rroma fiddlers playing half remembered Jewish melodies. Bukovinan and Hutsul bands and Maramures singers. It was, and still is, my personal Yiddish Rosetta Stone. And all of it given freely, even enthusiastically, the absolute opposite of my experience with the Yiddishist I had encountered up to that point (which will get its own essay soon enough.) 

I still go back and listen to them today. And if you're looking for the amazing Yiddish singer Bronya Sakina, I digitized that tape and put it up for all to hear. Along with video recorded around the same time. (Why was this so hard to find?)

Thank you Mr. Cohen. I am forever grateful.

Check out Bob's blog, always entertaining.

Remember that time when the skin head tried to kill you with a ball peen hammer?

From Flipside magazine, 9/1994 edition. An interview with one of about a 100 touring bands who crashed at my house in Norman OK in the mid-80's Hardcore culture. The deal we had in Norman was we'd try and find a venue, have the Flaming Lips run the PA and open up (and believe me, back then they weren't what they are lately,) we'd buy 'em a pizza on Campus Corner and then they'd crash at my place.

When Touch and Go touring band Killdozer came through, we had secured an arrangement with a local business man who opened up and "all ages" club on the main drag, called "The Jailhouse" and served soft drinks and foosball. The Lips set up their ramshackle, patched together "PA" and then played the a medley of their favorite hard rock licks for 25 minutes. Then Killdozer played a ripping set in front of about 7 people, including the 4 piece Lips and the people who set up the show. Coming in and then being thrown out again for being way too tweeked on meth, was the town skinhead (who should get his own posting really.) On his last way out, he told me he was gonna come to my house and kill me. I wasn't worried too much because this was not a new threat and he usually passed out before he could do any real damage. That was to change profoundly this evening.

In this article the band is being interviewed fully 7 years after the "incident" after their show, and it seems to have lodged well into their touring "lore." 

Every word is true:

He swung hard and wild with a ball peen hammer he found in my toolbox just outside on my porch. I just laughed at him lunged at me, seriously laughing my ass off. This totally wasn't what he expected and after he wore himself out flailing the hammer, he looked around, smashed a window and departed. The poor Killdozer dudes were so freaked out, they slipped out and I never saw them again. But here, years later, they relate the tale. And I lived another day :-)


From Justin Normand, actively Making America Great


I have had the most extraordinary weekend.

Like most everyone I know, I have been in a malaise and at a loss since Election Day. What to do? With myself? With my time? To make things better, or even just to slog through?

I manage a sign shop, and so I had had the urge for a week or so to do this. Friday, I had a couple of spare hours in the afternoon, so I did. I made a sign, and I drove to the nearest mosque and stood out on the public sidewalk to share the peace with my neighbors. My marginalized, fearful, decent, targeted, Muslim neighbors. Someone took a picture and posted it, and as of today it’s been viewed millions of times, and shared across various platforms many hundreds of thousands of times.

This is extraordinary and humbling; mainly because what I did isn’t (or shouldn’t be) all that extraordinary.
For me, this wasn’t about expressing agreement; I remain Presbyterian, not Muslim. It wasn’t about demonstrating my outrage to right-wing drivers driving down Esters Road in front of the mosque. I can never, and will never, change any of the haters. It’s not about them. Not this time, and not here.
This was about binding up the wounded. About showing compassion and empathy for the hurting and fearful among us. Or, in some Christian traditions, this was about washing my brother’s feet.
This was about my religion, not theirs.

And, it was about what I think I must do as an American when our way of life is threatened. Targeting people for their religion not only threatens our way of life, it is the polar opposite of our way of life.
Find a group marginalized by the haters in this current era we find ourselves in. Then, find a way to express your acceptance to that group in a physically present way, as opposed to a digital one.
I can assure you, from their outpouring of smiles, hugs, tears, hospitality, messages extending God’s love, and a bouquet of flowers, it will mean a lot.

My own religious tradition ascribes these words to my deity:
I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.

It is also in this vein that the words on the Statue of Liberty embrace, with eagerness and mercy, all who come to join us:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
These words bespeak the America we all remember, know, love, and are still called upon to be. Especially now.
Lastly, it worked. I felt better for the impact it had on my neighbors. They genuinely needed this encouragement. They need us.
They need all of us. They need you.
We ARE one America.

Justin Normand
(from his Facebook account)